Geology
of Morals
Geologic time is molten substance. It unsteadies Being
precisely because it does not churn in perfect circles, and
precisely because it is demonstrable proof that Being is the
loose tooth jiggling gin the broken jaw of its own ontological
dentition.

83

Inheritance
Careless history is all that is left to us, and all that
should concern us.

84

We
Need Geosophers, not Geospheres!
Against the priests of petro-temporaglyphs. Only rank
disciplinarian historians of the most paleoscopic degree
concern themselves so obsessively with marked events in
sediment. They speak in such way as to have their dictates
obeyed, pointing to this band of strata in saying, "here,
this happened; next layer" as if Atropos herself were in
perfect agreement with this matrimonial terra-cake! Division
is representation, and to see a past there calcified in shale
and limestone is to merely witness the husk of an event. For
even geologists know the child's trick of the earth; that
mineral afterthoughts replace the flesh of the event to create
little more than its representation, a monument, even a Nazi
Architecture…trilobite moultings cleaved from the rock. But
even the geologists compartmentalize so crudely. Where or to
whom shall we look when historians are cake-bakers and
geologists are merely shipping-receiving clerks on the
dockyard of mineralized histories? I say we engage the geosopher
who knows well the true wisdom that lava unsettles sedimented
representations of time and returns them all to the event!

85

Dodging
the Imaginasty!
That damnable creature Jacques Le-Quand and his cyclone-alysis
has no sense of the time of the plateau, but only of the
platoon, which is why all subject grammar is medieval glamour
(as etymology so attests!). Eckhart, O Meister, preached and
teached differently--for him Reason was not some bloated
pontiff on a stick, nor castrated mama-papa-machine of little
sisters with no pricks to hunt for orgasms in caves! There, at
the clerestory of Reason, is Lacan's ultimate signified, so
flat and phallic in stained glass! Come receive Communion, the
sacrament of the sacred signified whereupon true difference is
crucified on a stick, and we are to nibble at its
victual-body, and sup its be-soured blood! How close we come,
but never quite close enough! How this thralldom continues is
precisely to have that label hovering over one's head: your
being is incomplete, and it is life that is to blame! What is
this? Incompleteness is deficit of Being, and not a reason to
rejoice in becoming? Forget the transcendental signified as
just a bad version of the crucified and embrace the real
potentia…that is what I say. We need no priests of the mind
to tell us otherwise, nor their impossible transcendental
carrot of meaning--for that meaning is for the nibbling and
frightened rabbits of Reason's serfs!